NAHALEEN*

How many moons
departed tonight? How many homes
remain without light?
The fields mourn
for their lovers
and for the vines.
The jujube explodes in the conqueror's face.
The wall is red
the street is red
the color of trees
is red
as is the color of the earth and the sun.
The ears of corn tell me
that martyrs' blood
are the songs' wine
that maidens' dreams
are dewdrops
on the eyelids of wheat.

Nahaleen

what could have driven
the sorrow out of your eyes
other than the steadfastness
of the grass
under the conqueror's boot?
What could protect theand pigeons' nests
from the blaze
the daisies' field,
children's eyes,
or wild thyme
or bare arms? Oh Nahaleen!
The horses are racing toward you
to place a paradise at your feet.
And passionate songs blossom everywhere
life emerges victorious.